Cabin Fever
by Carol
Summary: Fill in for The Girl Next Door…spoilers…just what happened in those three weeks after Dean, Sam and Bobby left the hospital…Bobby does his best to nurse the Winchester's minds and bodies back to health…
1. Chapter 1

**Cabin Fever**

**By Carol M.**

**Summary: Fill in for The Girl Next Door…spoilers…just what happened in those three weeks after Dean, Sam and Bobby left the hospital…Bobby does his best to nurse the Winchester's minds and bodies back to health…**

**Spoilers: all of season 7**

**Disclaimer: Don't own them, only love them**

**Enjoy!**

The pain was bad again. He could tell by the glassy look in Dean's eyes and the way the kid's body trembled even though he was wrapped tight in a woolen blanket Bobby had found in the closet. Sam was out cold in the back bedroom, having graduated from the vomiting phase of his concussion to the sleeping like the dead phase. Thank god or whatever higher power was operating out there these days. Having one Winchester laid up was bad enough, but having two running on empty was Bobby Singer's own personal version of hell.

It was times like the last twenty fours that Bobby was grateful he didn't have kids of his own. He couldn't stomach seeing the usually solid and strong brothers down for the count. Or the puke. Or the way they he couldn't seem to leave either of their sides, even for a moment. Sam and Dean never managed to do anything half-assed and being taken out by the Leviathans hadn't been any different.

Unfortunately.

Dean groaned, shifting his position. "Bobby, where's Sam?" he mumbled, his voice breathless and broken, his face screwed tight in agony.

"Sleeping it off," said Bobby as he approached the elder Winchester, who was horizontal on the living room couch. He ran a hand over Dean's forehead, not liking the flush of color he saw spread across the boy's cheeks. "How you feelin', son?" he asked, grimacing with worry as his hand felt the burn of heat radiating from Dean's body.

"Awesome," answered Dean, trying to shrink away from Bobby's touch. "You should go check on Sam. M'fine."

"Sure you are," said Bobby with doubt as he glanced down at the huge cast on Dean's leg. "How's the pain? One to ten scale."

"Two," muttered Dean, audibly swallowing as his eyes fluttered shut, his breath sawing in and out of his body in tiny puffs.

"Twelve then," said Bobby, reaching over to the coffee table for a bottle of pain pills and an half empty bottle of water.

Dean's eyes opened again, flashing him a look of worry. "Bobby, Sam… he's…"

"Sam's fine, Dean," Bobby assured, tapping out the last two Percocet from the bottle. "You're the one who's gone through all the meds from my first aid kit. And Rufus's. Gonna have to go out and turn some tricks to score you some more." He eased Dean into a sitting position, doing his best to ignore the pain that crossed Dean's features at the movement. "Here," he said, handing over the pills and the water.

Dean popped the pills in his mouth and gulped down the rest of the water in the bottle, his face turning a little green. He grimaced and let his head fall back against the couch, his arm wrapping around his stomach.

Bobby eyed him cautiously. "Those staying down or do I need to take two steps back?"

Dean only moaned in response, his eyes clenching shut again, his face once again reflecting the suffering his body was going through.

"Think you might be working on an infection there, boy," said Bobby, squeezing Dean's shoulder in care.

Dean jerked and abruptly shot up, gagging, his hand flying up to his mouth, his eyes wide with panic.

"Aw hell," was all Bobby managed to get out before Dean puked up the water, the pills and the mac' n' cheese they'd had for dinner all over the front of Bobby's shirt.

"Alright, alright, it's okay," Bobby repeated over and over as he did his best to ignore the foul mess dripping down his shirt and instead focused on Dean, placing a steadying hand at the young hunter's back, trying to ground him and comfort him at the same time. Dean continued to gag and sputter for another minute before collapsing back against the couch, weak and shaky, the heat rolling off him hotter than what it had been only ten minutes earlier.

"M'sorry, Bobby."

"I'll say, son," said Bobby as he grabbed a paper towel and wiped off Dean's mouth. "At least your brother had the decency to aim for my shoes."

A small smile crept across Dean's face at the comment and Bobby enjoyed a brief moment of respite from the tension of the situation.

"Hold tight, Vesuvius. Gonna go hose myself off."

"Sam… check on Sam. Please," Dean pleaded, his eyes huge and vulnerable.

Bobby nodded. "You got it." He swiftly stepped through the cabin to the laundry area in the back, where he tore off his soiled shirt and threw it in the sink, running some water over it to rinse the puke out, anxious to get back to Dean and make sure he was alright.

Being covered in puke and worrying himself to an early grave had been par for the course ever since they'd left the hospital. They had quickly ditched the ambulance in favor of a large SUV where Sam could lie down and Dean could stretch out his leg. Bobby had remembered that Rufus kept a cabin a few hours away and decided to head in that direction. Things had gone downhill from there.

While Dean fretted over his brother, who had yet to regain consciousness, the older Winchester's body had fizzled out the supply of morphine the hospital had pumped him full of and his leg had begun to pain him something fierce. It had been so bad in fact that Bobby had had to stop off at a local hospital and "borrow" whatever pain pills he could get his hands on. Unfortunately, he'd only managed to snag a few samples before the head nurse got wind and called security. Still, it had been enough to at least quell the boy's pain for the rest of the trip and also calm him down over his brother. By the time they'd arrived at the cabin, Sam was starting to come around and Dean was starting to go under. Bobby had somehow gotten them all into the cabin in once piece, settling Dean on the front couch and Sam in the back bedroom and hunkered down for a long night of playing nurse maid. He'd given Dean some more pain pills along with a shot of Scotch he'd found in the kitchen that had rendered Dean out almost immediately. But not before he'd made Bobby promise to wake him if anything bad was happening with Sam.

He had given Dean his word and then went to the back bedroom, sitting in with Sam, who immediately started puking steadily every twenty minutes for the next five hours. While Sam was in pure sickly agony, he seemed to be tracking reality, at least for the time being, and seemed to be simply working off the effects of a fairly run of the mill concussion. He had sat with Sam, watering him down and keeping him as comfortable as possible, intermediately going out to check on Dean, until the last of the upchuck had vanished and Sam had finally drifted off peacefully.

Bobby stepped once again into the back bedroom, glancing over at Sam, who seemingly hadn't moved a muscle since Bobby had last left him. He stepped to the bed and knelt over him, checking the head wound before absently smoothed down Sam's unruly hair. Sam didn't stir.

He moved to the bedroom's closet and pulled out one of Rufus's flannel shirts, grumbling at the material's bright color before pulling it on and heading back into the living room to check on Dean. The kid was melted into the couch, his breathing fast and heavy, his brow now glistening with sweat. Bobby high-tailed back into the laundry room, where he picked up a clean cloth and dampened it with water from the sink. He returned to the living room and placed the cool cloth against Dean's baking forehead, running his hand through Dean's spiky hair.

Dean grunted, his eyes opening into tiny pain-filled slits. "Bobby…"

"Think it's time we called for some reinforcements," said Bobby. "I know a horse doctor who dabbles in hunting about three hours out. He's been known to patch up a wound or two. He might be able to get his hands on some antibiotics and more feel good pills. Hold tight a sec." Bobby grabbed his phone and headed towards the cabin's exit.

"Whoa… where you… where you going?" Dean asked, his voice high-pitched and edging on panic, his eyes wide with fear.

Bobby was taken aback at how freaked out the kid looked, taking a moment to step back and pat him reassuringly on the arm. "Easy, son. I'm just going outside to make a call. Reception's better out there."

Dean gulped and nodded, the tension easing slightly from his body.

"That okay with you, princess?" Bobby asked, trying to tease away the worry that was once again clinging to his gut.

"Giddy up," said Dean, his face again twisted in discomfort.

"Just be a few minutes. Try not to spew anymore. We're almost out of clean blankets."

"Roger… that," Dean managed before his eyes shut once again, a full on shiver working its way through the kid's body before he collapsed bonelessly into the couch.

He hesitated, not wanting to leave Dean, concern hammering him over the hunter's strange reaction to Bobby's departure. But getting a doctor out there was ultimately more important than Dean's fragile state. He tucked his chagrin away as he reached for a coat and headed out the door into the chilly evening air, hoping to find a little salvation at the end of the phone line.

They sure could use it.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

**Thanks so much for all your kind words and interest! So glad you're enjoying the story so far. On to the next part…**

Dean shivered and moaned pitifully, barely conscious as Stu, Bobby's horse doctor friend, examined him. Bobby stood at the foot of the couch, staring a hole into Dean's side, not liking the way the kid shook or the way his body was held so taut with pain.

"So what's the prognosis there, doc?" he asked, glancing at Stu anxiously.

Stu, who had long gray hair and looked like Neil Young, chuckled like he'd just heard a funny joke. "What kind of crazy stuff you people get into?" the doc asked as he set up a makeshift I.V. stand next to the couch.

"Nothing good," Bobby answered. He watched as Stu swabbed the crook of Dean's elbow with an alcohol soaked cotton ball. "He gonna be okay?"

"Ken doll, here?" asked the doc, connecting a clear bag of medicine to the stand and then hooking it to a tube. He connected the tube to an I.V. needle and then slid the sharp into Dean's arm. The young hunter shuddered a bit at the intrusion, his eyes moving rapidly under closed eyelids. Stu taped off the needle and then acknowledged Bobby. "He's got rot in the bones. Three bags of this over the next twenty four hours and he'll be fine." Stu took two more bags of the antibiotic and set it on the coffee table next to the couch. "It's the pain that's getting to him though." Stu produced a drug vial, the label of which Bobby couldn't see, and stuck a needle into it, filling the syringe full and then shucking out the air bubbles. Then Stu stuck the needle into Dean's I.V. and pushed down on the plunger.

Bobby watched as Dean's body literally decompressed before his eyes, the tension leaving, the lines of pain smoothing out. Dean let out a soft sigh and then relaxed into the couch, looking as peaceful as it was possible for Dean Winchester to look these days.

"Save these for def con one," said Stu, setting a few more vials next to the antibiotics along with a number of syringes. He pulled out two bottles of prescription drugs and added them to the pile. "This'll get him through the everyday aches and pains."

"Thanks, Stu. I owe you."

"Naw. Just do the same for someone else. Pay it forward."

"I'll do that."

"If he gets worse, ring my bell."

"Bobby?" came a voice from behind him.

Bobby turned to see Sam standing just at the edge of the living room, looking vulnerable and confused, his hair a mess, his eyes wide as he looked from Dean to Stu and then to Bobby. "What happened? Where are we?"

Bobby smiled, feeling cautious relief. "Sam, boy, it's good to see you up and around."

Sam flashed him a weak smile. "What happened?" he repeated.

"Hold that thought," said Bobby. He looked to Stu and nodded towards Sam. "You mind checking him out too. He took a good whack to the head."

Without a word, Stu whipped out a penlight and strode over to Sam. He shined the light back and forth in Sam's eyes, examining them closely.

"Bobby, what the…" Sam stepped back from the doc, but Stu kept coming.

"Pupils are normal and reactive," said Stu. He pressed a thumb into Sam's head wound.

"Ow! Who the hell are you?"

"He's fine," said Stu, backing away. "If the headache gets bad, he can share some of Romeo's pain pills. If he passes out or starts speaking tongues, give me a call."

"Unfortunately, speaking in tongues is not entirely out of the realm of possibility," muttered Bobby.

"Huh?" said Stu.

"Never mind," said Bobby.

Stu quickly collected his supplies and stuffed them into his bag. "I don't mean to rush, but I've got a horse I gotta put down in Genoa Falls."

"Thanks for coming, Stu."

Stu winked. "Don't mention it."

And then Stu was gone, leaving Bobby and Sam to stare at one another, the sound of Dean snoring filling the silence between them.

"Bobby, what happened?" Sam asked, glancing worriedly at Dean. He made a move towards his brother.

"Let him be," said Bobby. "He's finally resting. Been worrying his head off about you the last two days. What do you remember?"

Sam clamped his eyes shut as if trying to remember. After a few moments, he reopened them, looking at Bobby with something akin to relief. "Uh… your house… they burned it. We thought… we thought you were dead."

"Yeah, I caught that," said Bobby, eyeing his phone on the coffee table. "Your brother left me a voicemail worthy of a chick flick Oscar nomination. I was touched."

"We can't lose anybody else, Bobby," said Sam, inching closer and closer to Bobby and then finally grabbing his arm, squeezing it solidly like he needed tangible proof that Bobby was there and in the room with him.

Bobby couldn't resist. He pulled Sam into a tight embrace, damn grateful that they were all still in one piece. "I'm still here, boy. I ain't going anywhere."

They parted from the hug, eyeing each other awkwardly once again. "What do you remember after the junkyard?" Bobby asked.

"Um… pain… my head… it felt like it was going to explode."

"What about Lucifer?" Bobby asked, his chest tightening with worry. "Any more… sightings?"

"Saw him a few times," admitted Sam, looking down and shuffling his feet. "I thought I was back in hell with the pain in my head."

"And now?"

Sam shrugged uneasily. "So far, so good?"

It was a start.

"Where are we anyway?" asked Sam, looking around the cabin.

"Old cabin of Rufus's. Whitefish, Montana. Figure you and your brother can hold up here til you get your sea legs back."

Sam looked down at Dean, who was sleeping like a baby and looked like one too. "How's he?"

"Nasty break. Infection. But he should be on the mend in a few days. Which in translation means he'll be an ornery cuss until he can move proper again."

"Good," said Sam, nodding. "What about the Leviathan?"

"We're off the radar. At least for the time being. Let's try and keep it that way, shall we?"

"Yeah."

Bobby sunk down in one of the chairs, feeling how comfortable it was, the events of the last few days finally catching up to him.

"Why don't you get some sleep?" said Sam, carefully sitting down at the end of the couch Dean was curled up on, doing his best not to disturb his brother. "I'll sit up with him."

Bobby shook his head as he relaxed further into the chair. "I'm good," he said, thankful for a moment of peace and quiet. He wanted nothing more than to sleep for about 3 days. But the boys needed him still. He had to stay up and keep an eye on Sam, make sure his noggin was still functional. And Dean, well, he'd need some more meds in a few hours. He'd go make some coffee to keep himself awake. In just a second, he'd get up and go make some coffee. In just a second.

Then he drifted off to sleep.

Bobby was startled awake by the sound of a loud squeal of pain. He looked around, confused, not remembering where he was or in fact, who he was at that particular moment.

"Sammy… owwww… what… stop!"

Bobby looked in the direction of the voice and saw Sam dragging a drugged out and hurting Dean off the couch by the front of his T-shirt, Dean's casted leg bumping off the couch, the I.V. pulling out of Dean's arm, the stand crashing to the floor.

"You're not real!" Sam screamed at Dean, his face red with anger and confusion. "You're back in hell! Stop hurting my brother! I'll kill you. I swear I will!"

"Sam no!" shouted Bobby, slapping himself out of his sleep induced stupor and darting over to Sam and Dean.

"Sam… please… it's me," Dean pleaded, his voice tight with pain.

"No… no… you're not him! You're not Dean!" Sam insisted. "Dean had a broken leg. You've got nothing. No cast, no brace, no nothing! " Sam punctuated each word with a brutal kick to Dean's casted leg. Dean howled in pain, tears falling freely from his eyes.

"Ahhhhh… Sa…Sammy… s'me…"

Bobby came up behind Sam and gave him a swift shove back towards the couch. Dean fell out of Sam's clutches and collapsed to the floor, curling protectively around his leg, his eyes clenched shut, his body quivering, his breathing strained, groans of pain escaping his parted lips .

Sam hit the couch stunned and then seemed to come back to himself. He gazed from Bobby to Dean with an expression of horrific realization on his face. "I… I thought it was Lucifer. Thought he was trying to hurt, Dean." Sam took a few cautious steps towards his brother, who still lay curled in a ball of agony on the floor, unable to speak, barely able to breathe. "Dean, I'm sorry," he said, suddenly backing away like he didn't have a right to be in such close proximity to his brother. He looked at Bobby and the sad, guilty expression on the boy's face felt like a kick to Bobby's gut. "Bobby, I..." Sam began, trailing off, unable to continue.

Bobby sighed, his heart breaking for both the Winchesters. "Sam it's…"

Before Bobby could finish, Sam shook his head, tears pricking his eyes. "I… I can't…" Then he turned and ran out of the cabin like his life depended on it, leaving Bobby alone with the other fallen Winchester.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Three**

**And so it continues...**

**Thanks so much for all your reviews and favorites and alerts and such. Hope you enjoy the next part!**

Bobby glanced through the opened front door, his heart thudding in anxiety knowing that Sam was running rampant somewhere out in the woods with his brain only half intact. But Bobby's more immediate concern was sprawled out like a sack of bones at his feet.

"Ahhhhh," Dean moaned, trying to straighten his body out against the pain that had been inflicted on his leg, but not having any luck. "Ssam… Sam… Bobby…"

"I know, kid," said Bobby, trying to figure out the best way to get Dean off the floor without hurting him further. "I need to get you back on all fours first."

"No," urged Dean, swallowing audibly, looking completely overwhelmed and exhausted. "Jus leave me here," he breathed, his eyes squeezing shut even tighter. "Go… find… Sam."

Bobby didn't acknowledge him. Instead, he grabbed a vial of the painkillers the doc had left off the table and quickly filled one of the syringes with the serum. "This should help Gumbify you," he said, kneeling down next to Dean and easing the needle and its contents into the crook of Dean's arm. He tossed the needle aside when he was finished and rubbed Dean's back in comfort, willing the painkillers to take effect, trying his best to ignore the grunts and whimpers of pain bubbling out of Dean's lips. Gradually, he felt the muscles in Dean's back relaxing under his grip. "That's it, son. Relax… easy… easy," he said as the tremble of tense muscles tapered off and Bobby could feel Dean's whole body sag in relief.

"Go get, Sam," said Dean, his voice a breathy croak. "M'kay. Jus wanna hang down here awhile longer."

"Dean…"

"Bobby… please… go find him," pleaded Dean, his eyes opening and focusing a heartbreaking hurt puppy dog look in Bobby's direction."

Bobby shook his head. "Damn idgit," he grumbled, pulling himself off the ground. He grabbed the blanket off the couch and draped it over Dean. "I'll be back soon. Don't do anything stupid."

Dean's only reply was a wearied sigh.

Bobby took one last look at the kid before tearing off through the front door, landing on the wooden front porch. He looked beyond the dirt driveway to the vast forest of trees surrounding the cabin. Sam could be anywhere. Five feet away or five miles, it didn't much matter. If Sam didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be found. Period. He glanced back through the cabin door, his jaw clenching with worry over the eldest Winchester still slumped on the floor. He felt a pang of guilt for leaving him even though he knew Dean wouldn't have it any other way. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the anxiety. He had to get to it. The sooner he found Sam, the sooner he could get back to Dean and get him resettled and on the road to recovery. Then they could all catch their breath and figure out just what the hell they were going to do next.

Bobby dashed off the porch to the edge of the forest, his spidey Winchester sense tingling. Screw the rest of the forest. He knew Sam was close. Now it was only a matter of finding the right way to draw him out.

"Sam," he yelled in no direction in particular. "I know you're here, boy. Come back inside and help me take care of that brother of yours."

He heard just the slightest sound of leaves rustling ten feet to his right. He stood his ground, making no move to head in that direction. "Sam… just because there's a few… complications in your mind, don't mean we can't handle things. Hell, we've faced worse. We've all died for god's sake."

"We're gonna die again," he heard Sam shout in a voice wavering on the edge of total panic. "He's here, Bobby. Lucifer's here. He's gonna kill you both. I can't stop him."

Bobby blew out a deep breath, his nerves jumping as he realized just how deep Sam's condition was penetrating this time. "Yes you can, Sam. Yes you can," he said firmly, remaining fixed in his position. "You can control this, Sam. That whack you took to the head is just scrambling you up is all. You know he's not here. I'm here. Dean's here. You're here. The three of us. We're a family and we can and we will get through this. We don't have a choice, boy. Even stone cold crazy, we'll take you any way we can get you. And we'll make it better."

"I almost killed Dean in there," Sam yelled back with a sob. "What happens the next time, huh?"

Bobby sighed, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. "You come back inside and we'll make sure there's not a next time… together."

"I can't," Sam sobbed. "I can't."

"Sammy…"

Bobby turned around to see Dean on the front porch, barely holding himself up with his crutches, his body shaking with weariness and pain. The kid looked like he was about to crumble to dust right before his eyes. He had no idea how Dean was even still conscious, let alone how he was capable of hobbling out to the porch.

"Dean, what part of don't do anything stupid didn't you understand?" Bobby uttered.

"Blame it on the drugs, Bobby," said Dean. He limped another step forward and looked out to the trees. "Sammy, I know you're out there. I can smell your aftershave."

It was then that Sam showed himself, stepping out grimly and unsure from behind one of the trees just to Bobby's right. His face was streaked with tears. "Dean, I don't… I…"

"What? You don't what, Sam?" Dean asked, trying to shuffle forward another step, but clearly lacking the strength. Bobby didn't miss the way the kid's whole face went white or the way his chest huffed up and down as he breathed, like it was a fight for every inhale and exhale. He wanted to intervene, wanted to make it better for both of them, but it wasn't his place. Instead, he stood back, watching in amazement as the Winchester brotherly bond worked its magic.

"I don't," Sam started again, breaking down in a sob. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore, man. I can't trust what I see. I can't trust what I hear. I don't know where I am or who I am half the time."

"That's okay, Sammy," Dean assured, blinking hard as if forcing himself to stay awake, his arms shaking more and more under the strength required to hold himself up with the crutches. "I know who you are, and I know where you are. You're my little brother, and you're with your family. Everything else, we can figure out as we go. I promise you."

"No," said Sam.

"Sam, please," implored Dean, a tear slipping from his eye onto his cheek. "We lost Cas. I lost Lisa and Ben. We thought we lost Bobby. I can't lose you too. I just can't…"

Sam's gaze suddenly focused on a spot that wasn't Bobby or Dean and a chill coursed through Bobby as Sam fearfully shook his head at what Bobby assumed was Lucifer. "You're not real," Sam said to it, jamming his thumb into his hand.

"That's it. You're doing awesome, bro," said Dean, his voice low and weak, his body clearly about to run out of strength.

Sam visibly poked his hand even harder, wincing against the pain. He looked at the spot again and his expression of fear and horror suddenly cleared. He glanced from Bobby to Dean triumphantly. "He's gone. I got rid of him. He's gone."

Dean nodded proudly. "Good job, Sammy," he said. "Knew you could do it." Then Dean's eyes rolled back in his head and Bobby watched in dismay as he collapsed bonelessly to the porch, his crutches going flying as he smacked hard against the wooden boards of the porch.

"Damn it, Dean! You stubborn ass!" shouted Bobby as he dashed towards the fallen Winchester, Sam right on his heels. When Bobby reached Dean, his stomach dropped to the floor. Dean's face was deathly pale, his features completely lax. He bent down on shaky knees to examine him closer just as Sam clamored up on the porch behind him.

"Bobby, what's wrong with him?' asked Sam urgently, kneeling down next to them.

Bobby checked Dean's pulse, which was barely ebbing along and then ran a hand over Dean's chest before putting an ear over Dean's nose and mouth.

"Bobby, what is it? What's wrong?" Sam repeated, sounding panicked.

It took another second to confirm what Bobby already knew in his gut. "Aw hell, Sam, your brother's stopped breathing!"

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Cabin Fever Part Four**

**By Carol M.**

**See first part for details. Thanks so much for your interest and continued readership! Enjoy the next part!**

When Sam realized Dean wasn't breathing, he glanced at Bobby in absolute terror, making Bobby want to throw up with having the responsibility of removing that expression from Sam's face. But he couldn't worry about that now. Right now, they had to do everything they could to save Dean.

Bobby knelt over Dean's chest and positioned his hands over Dean's sternum. He looked to Sam and nodded towards Dean's mouth. "Get up there and breathe for him, boy."

Sam nodded and scampered into position. He pinched Dean's nose and tilted his head back, checking to make sure his airway was clear. Then he gave Bobby a quick nod indicating he was ready.

Bobby began to press hard compressions against Dean's chest with his hands. One… two… three… four… five. Then Sam would pinch Dean's nose and breathe into his brother's mouth.

One… two… three… four… five.

Breathe.

Dean's face was slack, his skin grey. He looked like he was already dead. Bobby pressed Dean's chest even harder, desperate, needing to feel the life flow through the hunter once again.

"Come on, kid. Breathe! Breathe!" Bobby shouted as his chest compressions took on a maniacal urgency.

Dean's face remained unmoved as if to mock him. Bobby was struck by how young the kid looked, had to remind himself that even though Dean had lived three life times compared to most, he really was still a boy. He couldn't let him go. Not again. He'd buried Dean Winchester once when he'd been torn to shreds. He wouldn't do it again. He just wouldn't.

He began to pound on Dean's chest, his hands and arms starting to ache as he continued the tirade. Sam kept breathing into Dean's mouth, not saying a word, his cheeks soaked with tears.

Bobby slammed his hands down so hard then he swore that he felt something crack in Dean's chest. "Come on you stubborn son of a bitch! Breathe! Breathe!"

A weak sounding gasp suddenly whooshed from Dean's mouth.

"Dean?" said Bobby.

Dean's eyes fluttered open and he began to cough and choke, desperately sucking in air.

"Thank god," murmured Sam, squeezing Dean's shoulder a second, looking worn and entirely freaked out as he wiped at the tears still wet on his cheeks.

Dean continued to cough and sputter. Bobby ran his hand up and down Dean's chest, encouraging his lungs to open up. "Easy. Easy, son." Dean managed to pull in a wheezy breath. "That's it. That's it, kid," Bobby encouraged, continuing to massage Dean's chest, reveling at the feel of the hunter's breathing even it was shallow and downright painful sounding.

"Chest hurts," Dean gasped, swallowing hard, his eyes squeezing shut with hurt.

"Serves you right, ya idjit," said Bobby, whacking Dean upside the head. "You don't need to push yourself until you fall over dead, you know. You scared the hell out of your brother and me."

"Mmmmm," Dean moaned. "Sorry."

"How's your leg feel?" asked Bobby.

Dean groaned, relaxing against the floor, seconds away from passing out again from the pain and exhaustion.

"Dean, stay with me," said Bobby, grasping Dean's jaw with his hand.

"Hurts," whispered Dean, a full body tremor coursing harshly through him.

Bobby looked to Sam, who was sitting on the sidelines, trying to catch his own breath. "We gotta get him back in the house and hooked back up to the antibiotics before his leg rots off."

Sam nodded and sat back up, putting his hands squarely under Dean's shoulders. Bobby took position at Dean's legs and nodded at Sam. "On three… one… two… three." They both lifted and Dean grunted in pain. Bobby did his best to keep Dean's legs level and not jar them too much as he and Sam hauled Dean back inside and gently laid him out on the couch. Dean's body was tense with agony again, his eyes darting about glassy and wide, his breath sawing in and out harshly through his chest.

Bobby gathered the medical supplies, while Sam hunkered down next to his brother, squeezing his shoulder and staying in his eye line. "Easy, dude. You gotta relax. We're gonna take care of you."

Dean reached up to Sam's face and weakly patted his cheek. "You okay, Sammy?"

"I'm fine, Dean. I'm fine." Sam gently pulled Dean's hand off his cheek and lowered it to the couch, straightening it out so Bobby could reinsert the I.V. "You just worry about you, Dean. Just get better. I'm fine. Bobby's fine. Everybody's fine."

Dean flinched as Bobby inserted the needle back into his arm. The young hunter looked up at Bobby and Sam through heavily lidded eyes, his look haunting, sending a chill down Bobby's spine. "Cas's not fine," he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

Bobby and Sam looked at one another grimly, neither one sure what to do or say. After a few awkward moments, Bobby started the drip of antibiotics while Sam pulled the blanket up to cover Dean.

"Get some sleep, boy," said Bobby, briefly resting his hand on Dean's chest, the up and down movement of Dean's breathing doing wonders to calm his scattered nerves.

Dean glanced up at him with big green eyes that held such an air of vulnerability that it made Bobby uncomfortable. He wasn't using to seeing Dean like that. It was unnerving. And scary as hell. Bobby moved his hand from Dean's chest to the side of his head, absently tousling his hair.

"Shut your eyes, son," he said, not able to meet Dean's gaze any longer, instead looking over at Sam, who seemed to be just as unnerved and uncomfortable by Dean's rare display of weakness as he was. Dean's eyes finally drooped and then closed. Thirty seconds later, the young hunter was out like a light, softly snoring and looking all of five years old.

"He'll be okay," said Sam, sounding unsure of himself. "Right?"

"Kid's as tough as nails, son," Bobby responded. "He'll be fine."

Sam nodded hard as if trying to convince himself. "Yeah. For sure."

"Why don't you get some sleep, Sam. I got this," said Bobby, taking a seat a few feet from the couch, ready to keep vigil for the next few hours.

"I'm good," said Sam, settling down at one of the chairs surrounding the table in the kitchen.

"Sam, don't you think you should go back to bed? Rest your noggin a little more?"

Sam shook his head. "No. I'm okay, Bobby. Really." He flashed Bobby a small smile before picking up one of the lore books on the table and starting to read.

"Alright then," said Bobby, relaxing back in his chair, his gaze focused on Dean, watching his chest rise and fall to make sure he was still breathing. He swore he could feel the spirit of John Winchester watching him from afar, making sure that Bobby did everything he could to protect his sons. Bobby snuck a glance over at Sam, thankful that the boy seemed to be out of danger and was instead engrossed in the text of the book he was reading.

Bobby sat like that for hours, glancing back and forth between Dean and Sam, watching them, making sure they were both safe. He didn't know how they were going to beat the Leviathans, if they even could beat them, but the one thing he could do was keep the Winchesters safe and healthy for as long as he possibly could. Even if it killed him in the end. It would a good death.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of pained whimpers and ragged moans coming from Dean. He quickly focused his attention back on the hunter and saw that his face was tense with pain again, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, his body shivering restlessly, even in his unconscious state.

"Hang on, kid," said Bobby, grabbing up a vial and syringe from off the coffee table. He loaded the needle as Dean groaned loudly, his body trying to curl up protectively around his leg. "Here it is," said Bobby, injecting the painkiller into Dean's I.V. It took a second for the drug to hit Dean's brain and when it did, the hunter moaned in relief and that let out a contented sigh as his whole body relaxed back into a quiet sleep. A beat passed and then Dean let out a horrendously loud snore. Bobby couldn't help but laugh.

"How is he?" asked Sam, glancing up worriedly from his book, having heard the ruckus.

Bobby pressed his hand against Dean's forehead, noting with relief that despite the sweat, his fever had lowered significantly. "Better," he answered. "Much better." He nodded at the book Sam was reading. "You figure out a way to kill our big bad of the month yet?"

"I'm working on it."

"Mind if I join you? I'm getting sick of staring at your brother's ugly mug."

Sam pushed a chair back from the table in Bobby's direction, encouraging him to sit down. Just as Sam finished, his eyes went wide with terror and then turned totally blank.

"Sam? Sam you okay, son?" asked Bobby worriedly.

Sam inhaled roughly and then jammed his thumb into his hand, twisting it so harshly Bobby was surprised it didn't make a hole.

"Sam?" Bobby repeated, cautiously approaching the troubled kid.

Sam let out a large breath, his eyes clearing. He took his thumb out of his hand and grabbed one of the books, pushing it towards Bobby on the table. "Take a look at this one," said Sam, barely meeting his eyes, practically begging Bobby not to say anything.

Bobby obliged. He took a seat at the table and grabbed the dusty book, titled The Rules of Purgatory. "Well, alright then," said Bobby, taking a final peek at Sam before opening the book and starting to read.

He didn't know how much time had passed before a loud moan, not of pain, but of terror exploded out of Dean's mouth. Bobby and Sam shared a look of concern before both slammed down their books and hustled over to the couch. Bobby was disturbed by what he saw. Dean was breathing loud and heavy, his face screwed tight with agony and fear, his body twisting into itself like he was trying to escape from whatever was trying to hurt him.

"Dean, wake up," said Sam, giving Dean a small shove.

"Ahhhhh... no," murmured Dean, the movement having no effect. He began to breathe in panicked gasps and Bobby was afraid he might hyperventilate.

"Dean, wake up, boy," said Bobby in a loud authoritative tone.

"No!"Dean cried out in terror, his back arching off the couch, a tear falling down his cheek.

"What the hell do we do?" asked Bobby as he helplessly looked at Sam, feeling totally lost and out of his element.

"No… no… please," Dean wailed, more tears streaming down his cheeks.

Sam wordlessly bent down and grasped Dean's hand in his, squeezing it tenderly. "It's just a dream, bro. You're safe. You're safe. I'm here. Sam… Sammy's here," he whispered so softly that Bobby had to strain to hear him.

Bobby watched in awe as Dean almost immediately settled down, his face smoothing out and his body going lax. Another couple of seconds and Dean was once again sleeping peacefully.

Sam let go of his brother's hand and stood up, looking at Bobby awkwardly, shrugging. "For some reason, if I hold his hand, the nightmares go away. Always been like that. Course if he knew, he'd probably chop his hands off."

"No kidding," Bobby remarked.

"You mind not mentioning it to him?" Sam asked, hovering protectively over his brother, making sure he was fully at peace. " I don't think he'd take it too well."

Bobby swallowed past a lump forming in his throat. "I wouldn't dream of it."

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**Cabin Fever Part Five**

**Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoy the last part!**

Bobby stood guard over Dean, watching him sleep, rousing him for pain medication when it became clear he was hurting, giving him water and trying to force feed him, having Sam talk him down from nightmares. And in a few instances that would never be spoken of again, helping him go to the bathroom.

It seemed to go on like that forever, but in reality it was just three days. Slowly the life and color came back into Dean's cheeks and his body relaxed not into that of the pained injured, but of someone in a deep peaceful healing sleep. Finally Bobby was able to relax and take a breath, take stock of the situation and figure out what he was going to do next.

Sam appeared to be doing okay. Bobby knew damn well Sam still had Lucifer in his sights. Could tell by the way the kid kept jamming his thumb in his hand like he was drilling for gold. He seemed to be managing it though and not letting it get the best of him, which was the most they could hope for at this point.

As for Bobby, well, he was just surviving like the rest of them. He tried not to think about the fact that his home and everything he'd ever owned was a burning pile of smoldering ash. It was just stuff, he kept telling himself. He was alive. The boys were still alive. He didn't have the luxury of getting sentimental over a couple of keepsakes and photographs. He just thanked God he'd had enough foresight to make copies of his library so he and the rest of the hunting community hadn't lost all of their resources. Just as soon as he was convinced Dean was in the clear to be left alone and Sam was also stable enough to his liking, he'd go out on a search and retrieval mission.

His thoughts of the next step were interrupted by the sound of Dean rousing from sleep.

"Mmmmmm," Dean murmured from the couch, his green eyes flitting around the room momentarily before landing on Bobby, a look of pain and confusion shining out of them.

Bobby reached for one of the vials of painkillers. "You ready for your next dose, son?"

Dean groaned, trying unsuccessfully to sit up.

Bobby hurried over to the couch and lent him a hand, placing his palm securely against Dean's back for support. "Damn kid, you look like battered road kill."

"Feel like it too," said Dean, his voice hollow and rusty.

Bobby grabbed a syringe and filled it with the liquid painkiller. "Last one of these, boy. Better live it up."

Dean saw the shot and shook his head. "Naw. No more of that strong crap. I've been out of my head enough."

Bobby shrugged and set down the needle. "If you say so."

Dean scanned the room. "Where's Sam?"

"Outside chopping firewood," Bobby responded as he picked up the bottle of pain pills and shook out two, handing them to Dean. He was about to get the kid some water, but Dean threw the pills in his mouth, dry swallowing them with a grimace.

"You sure it's such a good idea to let Sam near an ax?" Dean asked. "He still cuckoo for cocoa puffs?"

Bobby shrugged. "Well, who ain't a little out of their gourd these days? Especially us. All we've seen. We've got a right. Sam's got a right. He's doing the best he can. And that's all you can do too, son. The best you can. I know you've got a lot on your plate and most of it is foul and tastes funny."

"You're telling me, man," said Dean. He sank into the couch with a sigh, glancing around the house curiously. "Nice digs. This your summer home?"

"Winter, smartass."

"How long we been here?"

"Bout a week."

Dean pawed at his cast. "How long do I have to keep this stupid thing on?"

"Three weeks . Minimum."

"That's such crap."

"Fine. Hack it off. See what happens."

Dean grumbled, pouting, looking all of ten years old. "Sucks."

"Could've been worse."

Dean looked down at the ground, his face grim. "Yeah it could've. We could've lost you." Dean's eyes flicked up to his, wide with gratitude, shiny with unshed tears. "I don't know what I would've done…what Sam would've done..."

Bobby put his hand up in the air, cutting Dean off. "That's enough of that. We're all alive. Let's not go weeping in the damn ice cream over it."

Dean's eyes perked up at the mention of ice cream. "Do you have any ice cream? Or pie maybe?"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Do I have a sign around my neck that says Bobby Singer's Eats and Treats?"

"No, but it's got a nice ring to it," said Dean, grinning.

Bobby shook his head and grabbed the remote for the television set, tossing it at Dean. "Why don't you make yourself useful and shut the hell up. If you're a good boy, maybe I'll go on a food run later. That and buy copious amounts of alcohol."

"Now you're talking," said Dean with a wink. He flicked on the television and absently began to flip before finally landing on a Spanish soap opera. The young hunter appeared to watch the program for a moment and then turned to regard Bobby seriously. "Hey Bobby… thanks for saving my life. Sam's too."

Even an old salt like Bobby couldn't refrain from smiling. "Don't mention it, ya idgit. Now why don't you watch your soap there."

Dean chuckled. "Fair enough."

Bobby watched as Dean settled back into the couch, his gaze content, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to figure out the words and the storyline.

It warmed his damn heart.

He glanced out the window and saw Sam was still chopping wood, no sign of Lucifer or his merry men haunting him, just a sure, capable hunter doing the best he could. It was enough to make Bobby jump up and down for joy.

Freakin Winchesters.

He was so damn lucky to have them.

**That's All Folks! **

**Check out a preview of my short story Seven Minutes in Heaven on my profile page!**


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